


Daisy's Garden

by WizardofOzymandias



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Ableism, Angst, Blood Magic (Dragon Age), Emotional Abuse, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Mental Health Issues, Recovery, Slight Canon Divergence, Trauma, Verbal Abuse, suicide ideation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:54:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26342944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WizardofOzymandias/pseuds/WizardofOzymandias
Summary: After suffering years of emotional abuse by her Keeper and clan, Merrill struggles constantly with the fear that she may be losing her sanity. When she overhears a hurtful conversation between Varric and Hawke, Merrill wrestles with her previous trauma and begins to see just how much work recovering from her past will require.
Relationships: Female Hawke/Merrill
Comments: 4
Kudos: 28





	Daisy's Garden

The summer she turned eleven, the other children in Clan Sabrae found Merrill planting flowers next to her aravel. A merchant had passed by the camp recently with some live plants for sale. Merrill had bartered away her prized possession, an ironbark pendant, in exchange for the poor plants. She knew it was probably a bad trade, but the merchant had feared the flowers would die before his next stop.

“What are you doing?” demanded Fenarel, one of the children who had provided a constant source of scorn for Merrill.

Merrill glanced at him nervously. “I—I’m making a garden. Don’t you think the camp would look prettier with some flowers? And the flowers will probably be happier with someone to tend them.”

“You think flowers have feelings?” Fenarel sneered. “Not that it matters. We’ll be moving camp soon and you’ll have to leave your ‘garden.’ Dalish don’t have gardens.”

Merrill’s cheeks burned, and she feared she had broken some rule. She seemed to do that a lot. “I’m sorry.” She looked at the ground. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Of course you didn’t. You’re just crazy like your mom.”

The accusation was one she had heard for years. Her mother had gone mad when Merrill was only four years old. The complete break in her mother’s sanity had come the night Merrill’s magic manifested. According to the stories, Merrill’s mother had nearly killed herself before her tiny daughter imprisoned her in a cage of vines. Merrill had saved her mother with the same spell that doomed her to be sent away. Clan Sabrae’s Keeper needed an apprentice and was willing to take in the tiny girl with the awful past.

Merrill felt scalding tears well up in her eyes and her throat closed around a tight knot of sorrow. Her mother had been a shadow over her life for as long as she could remember. She often wondered if she would still be with Clan Alerion if her mother hadn’t gone insane. But, as she had often been reminded, she was very fortunate to have been chosen as the First of Clan Sabrae.

Just as Merrill was fighting her tears back, Marethari appeared. “Merrill! There you are! Dawdling around when you should be tending to your lessons. And distracting Fenarel, too. Has she been plaguing you with her nonsense?”

“She just said some silly things about flowers,” Fenarel answered.

“Then begone with you to train with Master Ilen,” Marethari chided. Fenarel went on his way and Marethari turned her attention to Merrill. “Now, child, what do you have to say for yourself?”

“ _Ir abelas_ , Keeper,” Merrill said, her voice barely a whisper around the knot in her throat. “I only wanted to save the flowers.”

“Speak up, child! You know I can’t hear you like that!”

“I’m sorry!” Merrill said louder, her voice cracking painfully, which sent fat tears running down her cheeks.

Marethari sat down beside her on the bench. “Now what reason do you have to cry?”

Merrill was angry, perplexed, frustrated. She couldn’t fix her mind on a good reason for her tears, but she also couldn’t stop them.

Marethari put an arm around her. “Come on, you can tell me whatever silly thing is troubling you.”

Merrill couldn’t get her breath between her sobs. She didn’t want Marethari so near, didn’t want to be touched, didn’t deserve to be touched. Here she was, crying without a reason, and delaying her lessons, and babbling about nothing. When she did manage to speak again, she simply choked out another, “I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?”

“I’m sorry for being a fool,” Merrill said miserably.

“That’s a terrible thing to say about yourself, _da’len_. You’re a capable, intelligent, beautiful young woman. Just because you take these silly notions is no reason to torment yourself. You simply need to be more careful about not saying every ridiculous thing that enters your head.”

“ _Ir abelas_.”

“Well, come on, we must get on with your lessons, now that half the day is gone. You should learn to be more careful with your time, _da’len_. You can’t waste the entire day babbling to the other children. You’re not the only person I have to care for. I’m responsible for the entire clan, you know. The more of the day you waste, the less time I have for everyone else.”

Merrill wiped the snot from her nose with a clean handkerchief and choked back another apology. She didn’t deserve to apologize. She had stolen enough of Marethari’s precious time with her foolishness. Merrill wondered why she never seemed to get anything right. It wasn’t that she wanted to take the Keeper’s time away from the clan. She knew how much she owed to Marethari. Her traitorous heart sometimes wished Marethari could be kinder, but the Keeper had told her time and again that her strictness was for Merrill’s own good. Only a strict upbringing could keep Merrill from turning out bad. From going crazy like her mother.

It was that day and her uncontrolled tears that Merrill thought of years later when she stood in the Hanged Man. Merrill had gone in to find Hawke and spotted her talking with Varric. Assuming this was only a friendly chat, Merrill had gotten closer, stopping when she heard Varric mention her nickname. She froze with indecision. If this was a private conversation, she’d be eavesdropping. But she didn’t want to sit in the corner where the creepy drunks lurked. Nor did she want to wait in the cold street. She was out of sight here, and she could talk to Hawke as soon as the discussion with Varric was over. A part of her she hated was desperate to know what Varric was saying. 

It had been a few weeks since the first time Hawke had kissed her. The revelation that Hawke cared for _her_ , small and silly and plain as she was, had felt like a miracle. Now, standing in the Hanged Man, Merrill saw that miracle start to catch fire as Varric spoke to Hawke.

Merrill heard Varric lower his voice to say, “Listen, as your friend, I feel like I’d be doing you a disservice if I didn’t say something. Merrill is a sweet girl, but there’s a whole lot of crazy in that little package.”

Hawke laughed. “In all the time that you’ve known me, have I ever given the impression that I was turned off by crazy?”

Forgetting her intention to talk to Hawke, Merrill fled the bar and disappeared into the chilly street. The night air brushed cool across her face and for once she was thankful for the cold cobblestones beneath her feet. They made her feel less like the world would fall out from under her.

Sorrow hung like a cloak of lead over her body. Crazy. That was the word it always came back to. Was it a part of her she couldn’t bleed out, couldn’t break? Maybe that was why she opened her veins for magic. Maybe that was why she sometimes thought of making the cuts a little deeper, longing for the quiet, the still that was the blessing of the dead. Did some part of her hope that if she bled enough, she could rid herself of her mother, of the risk of losing herself?

Merrill’s feet carried her home, and she held her arms tight around her. She saw nothing as she walked. Her eyes were turned inward, seeing only memories of her clan. Of all the times Marethari had chastised her, had insisted she was turning out bad. Every well-meaning, “you look just like your mother!” at the _arlathvhen_. Every whisper behind her back of “she’s not all there—her mother was like that, too.” All of it felt like blows she couldn’t fend off, couldn’t even try. Once inside, she curled herself tight in her bed and let the tears slip down her face.

Her eluvian loomed in the corner, casting its shadow across her miserable form. Another sign of her sickness, her obsession. How many years had the mirror swallowed whole? She would do better to smash it, to forget her foolishness, to stop hoping her clan might ever want anything to do with her again. She wished there were enough power behind the words _ir abelas_ to convey just how sorry she was for all her mistakes and missteps along the way.

The next day found Merrill by Hawke’s side again, her movements stiff and her eyes burning from lost sleep and too many tears. Still, being with Hawke in any state was better than being alone with her thoughts. 

Hawke’s team traversed the city, helping who they could, and trouncing whatever enemies attacked them. Merrill followed in a daze. She startled at any loud noise and her skin felt like it was buzzing with bees. A little after noon, Hawke stopped and looked at her. “Are you alright, Merrill? You don’t seem your usual cheerful self today.”

Merrill couldn’t make her lips smile, but she managed to say, “I’m alright.” She willed it to be true.

When their usual rounds were done, Hawke sent the others away and invited Merrill into her house. “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about,” Hawke told her.

Merrill braced herself for the blow. She knew she was losing Hawke. Merrill was only grateful that Hawke wasn’t “turned off by crazy.” At least she had had those few brief kisses and sweet conversations before it all came crashing down. What happened between them was just a fling, an experiment that had come to its end. Apparently, Hawke wasn’t as comfortable with crazy as she had boasted to Varric. 

Taking a seat next to Hawke, Merrill tried to ignore her shaking limbs and churning stomach. It would be over soon. “What is it, Hawke?” her voice trembled only a little.

“Why do you sound scared?” Hawke took Merrill’s hands in her own. 

Merrill shook her head and said nothing.

Hawke cupped Merrill’s face with her hand. “What is it, sweetheart? You can tell me anything.” 

Merrill tried to swallow, but instead gave an ugly, wet sob. The next minute, she was blubbering like a sudden summer storm. “I—I’m sorry,” she gasped. Hawke rubbed her back, then pulled Merrill into her arms. Once Merrill was able to speak again, she took a deep breath and wiped her face. She tried speaking, keeping her voice low in hopes it wouldn’t break. “It’s okay if you don’t want to be with me. I know I’m silly and—and embarrassing. . .and, sometimes I think I’m going crazy like everyone says.”

Hawke looked indignant. “Who says that?” she demanded. 

Merrill sniffled, wiping at the persistent tears that continued flowing. “My clan, and. . .Varric.”

Hawke bit her lip. “Wait, did you hear what Varric said last night?”

Merrill nodded miserably and her sobs started again, rattling her slight frame. “It was my fault. I shouldn’t have been eavesdropping.”

Hawke pulled her close and heaved a sigh. “I’ll have to have a talk with him about that.”

“No, don’t,” Merrill begged. “He’s not wrong.”

“What do you mean?”

Merrill took a deep breath and the words tumbled out in a rush. “I say silly things all the time and I forget things and get lost and—and my mother went crazy and everyone seems to think I’m like her. And then there’s the demon and my blood magic and I know that isn’t normal and maybe there’s something wrong with me.” She put her hands over her face and tried to make herself as small as possible. 

Hawke gently pulled Merrill’s hands away from her face. “Listen, I’m not great with speeches, but I’ve never seen someone as strong and sweet as you. You’re amazing, Merrill. And I love you. I know it’s not much, after all the people who should’ve loved you who didn’t. But I’m here now, saying it again. I love you with every bone in my body. I fucked up with what I said last night to Varric. You know I can’t keep my big feet out of my mouth, and I’m so sorry I hurt you like that. What I should have said was that I love you no matter what anybody thinks. And—about your mother—that makes it even worse. I was a complete idiot. Can you forgive me?”

“Of course I forgive you, Hawke. And you’re not an idiot.” She stared down at her hands. “I try not to talk about my mother. But she’s a part of me. A part that scares me. What if I end up like her?” 

“If it comes to that, we’ll get through it together. But I, for the record, don’t think you’re crazy. Or likely to go crazy. After everything you’ve been through, it probably would’ve happened by now.”

Merrill smiled at Hawke. She must look a complete wreck, with her red eyes and blotchy face. At least her nose had stopped running. Then she remembered. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

Hawke beamed at her. “I wanted to ask if you would like to live with me. I know it’s early to decide, but I know you don’t like living in Lowtown. And Varric’s right, it’s dangerous for you to be out after dark to come visit me. But you don’t have to make up your mind right now. You can think about it—”

“Yes,” Merrill interrupted.

“But—”

“Yes. I want to live with you, Hawke.”

Hawke’s eyes were brimming with joy. “Are you sure, sweetheart? That’s the fastest decision I’ve ever heard you make. I don’t want you to regret it.”

Merrill nodded. “Decisions are easy when I’m sure. I love you, Hawke. I have for a long time.” Hawke pulled her close and kissed her soundly. When their lips parted, Merrill blushed a little and said, “Do you think we could have a garden?”

Hawke laughed. “We can have the biggest garden in Hightown, if you want.” 

After a while, Merrill did have one of the biggest gardens in Hightown. It flourished under her careful care, and Varric no longer had to bribe gardeners in the city to keep quiet when Merrill pulled their flowers. Now, the other gardeners often sought the advice of the gentle Dalish woman with the magnificent plants. She even planted a special section where anyone could pluck whatever flowers they wanted.

Merrill found that as her relationship with Hawke grew and changed, she began to tend her own thoughts in much the same way she tended her garden. Painful, barbed thoughts of hurting herself or calling herself stupid or crazy had roots that ran deep. But with careful work, she could remove them, just as she pried up stubborn ground ivy from her flowerbeds. Just as with the weeds, some thoughts took years to stop sprouting. 

And as she grew more confident in her work of uprooting the harm her past had done, Merrill took a stand for herself. She set things straight with Fenris and Anders, informing them firmly—if a little anxiously—that she wouldn’t let them mistreat her anymore. Both men had been so startled to see “sweet Merrill” defending herself so fiercely that they agreed to stop speaking so harshly to her. And with more patient work, she established strong friendships with both of them. Things were easier with Varric, who was horrified when he heard how badly his careless words had hurt her.

There would always be shadows that haunted Merrill. Marethari had done her work too well for Merrill to ever completely shake free of that hurt. But with Hawke and her friends around her, Merrill found that her troubles were easier to bear. And even in Kirkwall, the center of so many tumultuous events, Merrill’s garden flourished. 


End file.
